Balin and Columbine (A Children of the May Novella - Book 1.5b)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Balin at the Water's Edge

The black spear from his dream had found him not once, but three times. It had flown through the air, thrown from the forked towers of Spar-Longius, and killed his hope of revenge. He was dying, his task undone. The Dolorous Stroke had betrayed him. He could smell death belching from his belly; death that smelled like metal.

He had lost a lot of blood, he knew that. But he remembered only snatches. The face of a guard. A fall to soft earth that had hurt like hell. Red bubbling over his fingers as he staggered into the darkness. Another fall, a harder one; a long tumble with stone landings. He remembered how everything had gone quiet, and then the ringing in his ears. Now he heard the gentle lapping of water, but whether it was the waters of the daytime world or the next one he could not be sure. 

‘Columbine,’ he croaked. ‘Columbine it’s yours to do now. Come and take the sword.’

He panicked. Did he still have the sword? As he sat the sharp metal points still embedded in him shredded the remaining muscles in his belly. Blood welled out of his three wounds in gleaming beads that caught the light like the darkest wine. The sword was by his side, the scabbard still attached to his belt. He loosened it, returned the blade to its home, and clutched the whole thing to him, like a statue of warrior on top of his own tomb.

‘Columbine, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Stop apologising. This isn’t your fault.’

 He saw her, in a scarlet dress like the angel of death, stern and beautiful. Her wide lips the colour of blood. She knelt by his side, lifted his bloody shirt to see his wounds. Columbine’s long fingers pressed the flesh around the stabbing points; he flinched with sickness and pain.

‘Are you here?’ he said.

She nodded.

‘Really here, or is this a dream?’

‘I’m real, Balin. You’re going to be well again.’ She tugged at one of the trident points, releasing a fresh gout of blood.

‘No, no. I’m done for lass. It’s down to you now. Take the sword. Leave me.’

Her bloody hand touched his cheek. She stared straight down at him. He could see the appeal of her stupid wide mouth now, but it was too late for any of that. He had failed.

‘You’re going to be alright, Balin the Savage. You’re stronger than this.’ She hooked one hand around his shoulder; the other cradled the back of his neck like a child. She pulled him up, which sent wave after wave of shivering pain through him. The world went blank for a moment, and when he became aware of it again he was back down on the floor. Columbine was still kneeling by his side.

The sword had become a terrible burden. With all the power he could muster he held it up for her.

‘Finish it,’ he said. ‘Revenge them.’ 

But she didn’t take the sword. She bent down and put her lips to his. The kiss was urgent, despairing. It was a kiss of goodbye. As she kissed him he felt that he had only one more thing to do before he departed the world. He knew that she would do the rest. She was stronger than him, cleverer than him; she would not leave their revenge undone.

She took the Dolorous Stroke from his hands. ‘I’ll get help. I’ll come back for you.’

‘No need, lass,’ he laughed. ‘I’m done for. Columbine –’

‘What, Balin?’

‘What you said… in the forest.’

‘Don’t.’

‘I need… to say… it once. I would have said it forever, over and over again… but just this once will have to do. You’re bloody lovely too, lass, big mouth and all.’